


Deluge

by cottoncandyhurricanes



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Romance, Anxiety, Awkwardness, Dan also needs a hug, Depressed Dan Howell, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Fluffy illness, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Insecure Dan, Insecure Phil, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nightmares, Phil Needs a Hug, shitty romcom, wow so much fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:43:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4467551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cottoncandyhurricanes/pseuds/cottoncandyhurricanes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was raining. Not that kind of spring rain, where the clouds would lightly mist the world below, and disappear.<br/>No; things were heavy. Unforgiving.<br/>The cold water nipped at Phil, as he shivered, looking around for a place to escape the rain.</p><p>AU where Phil's lost in the streets of Reading for some reason. It's raining, and Dan finds him feverish and soaking wet on the road.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first Phanfic (and the first fanfic that I've actually published online)  
> Comment if you have an idea about how it should continue!  
> Disclaimer: If I owned these people, I wouldn't be sticking one of them under the rain and leaving them to die, would I? Everything in this is from my imagination, although it might have been inspired by various things.

It was raining. Not that kind of spring rain, where the clouds would lightly mist the world below, and disappear. 

No; things were heavy. Unforgiving. 

The rainwater nipped at Phil, as he shivered, looking around for a place to escape the rain. 

All around him, people rushed past beside him; holding on to their umbrellas tight, safe and warm underneath their cardigans and jackets. Clumsy boot-clad feet, stomping past him, splashing yet another load of water on his already ruined converse.

The man tugged at his soaking wet flannel, and sneezed violently. 

Phil searched his pockets as he walked aimlessly, his shoes squelching. A schoolgirl walking past gave him an odd look, which was promptly ignored. 

He was used to it; the looks of pity, scorn and disgust all blending into one gaze of disapproval. With his current state and all, he deserved it, really. He probably looked like a sewer rat now; dirty and soaking wet. 

It was lucky that he was far away from home. Far away from his followers. Far away from everyone he knew. 

He didn’t want to show them this. They didn’t need to know. Didn’t need to know that always-positive Phil Lester could be so beaten down, so different when the curtains were drawn, and the camera was turned off. 

It was okay. There was still time. He just needed to do this. He just needed some time _ ,  _ and he could go home. He could go home, forget all this, regret all this. This deafening silence, scorching looks of pity, and all this  _ vagueness  _ that he couldn’t quite put down. 

Now, where was he again?

Phil blinked a little, turning around to find someone, maybe ask them where in the world he’d gotten to. 

He turned around, gathering up his courage to talk to someone. He wondered if his voice would actually work; with the awful headache and constant feeling of being constricted, would a single sound actually manage to come out?

But…..The street was empty. 

Everyone had either returned home, or managed to get under a roof somewhere. 

It was only him and the road; clogged to the brim with numerous cars. The streets tended to be like that whenever it rained; everyone was dying to get home, and the bus schedule was sparse. Not worth waiting for.  

But he wasn’t alone. He was  _ far _ from alone, with the cars and all. Cars filled with people, people he could talk to. 

Phil’s eyes blurred as he stumbled into the road, brushing his wet fringe away from his face.

He felt so  _ dizzy.  _ Like the world was slipping underneath him, his body feeling foreign and unnatural; the icy cold water seeping into his bones. 

But he’d survive. He had to, right? It was his obligation to pick up the pieces, glue them back together and continue on with his life. 

It was okay. It would  _ be _ okay. 

He walked into the middle of the road, oblivious to the drivers’ stares. 

His hands somehow found a car handle, and he pulled on it, banging on the window hysterically. The door remained closed. Phil pulled on the handle anyway. It would open. It would open somehow, and he’d be safe. He’d be with everybody again. Nothing would ever go wrong again. Somehow. 

A shudder ripped through him, his hand slipping off of the shiny black handle. 

It was okay. It was fine. This was the first door that he tried, and there were lots of cars. A lot. 

Phil stumbled a little, as he reached towards another car, and another. Over and over again. The doors wouldn’t budge. The doors stayed shut, refusing to help him escape from the ruthless, unforgiving reality. 

Things were getting awkward now.  _ Very  _ awkward. Maybe no one really did want to help him. 

Phil laughed deliriously. It was funny how England had such a good reputation, their people being warm and polite. It was just a well-off country, packaged neatly. But the inside wasn’t ever as good as what the packaging hinted at. It never quite was. 

The driver in the car that he was currently knocking on honked loudly, and Phil retreated, slightly disoriented. As if they’d been waiting for a cue, all the other cars began honking as well. 

Oh well. Guess  _ they _ didn’t like him either. 

Phil simply threw his head back, and embraced the rain; letting it run down his face, weaken his chances of surviving even more. 

It just wasn’t  _ worth _ it anymore. 

An endless chain of trying, trying and trying, and inevitably achieving nothing. A useless, vicious cycle. 

Phil stepped deeper into the sea of cars with an unsure smile.

Better to die here, than to be rushed to A&E at some quaint hospital for hypothermia. Better to die quickly, than to be discovered and branded as a nutcase. He wasn’t Pete Wentz. Doing something like this and surviving would never amount to anything for him. It was late, too late, and all he wanted was for everything to be  _ over.  _

A car accident. A seemingly dull, but anyhow better ending. At least with the weather and all, everything would be  _ final.  _ At least there was little he’d miss if he left. Well, everything except one...

“Hey!”

Someone yelled. Somewhere...behind him. Or beside. It was hard to discern those kind of things, especially with a headache that was killing you. 

He was probably mad at him, for standing in the middle of the road or something. 

Was he  _ really _ that annoyed with him? For just standing in the middle of the road?

Well that wasn’t very nice, was it? 

“Over here!”

He turned around, and watched as the light in a car turned on. 

The man inside beckoned at him, an exasperated expression on his face. 

What was he going to do? 

Hit him? Kidnap him? 

Common sense would be to walk away from this. Common sense would be to apologize profusely, and curl up in a secluded corner of the streets. Fight off the rain, or perish in it. Or alternatively wake up three days later at A&E, only to be shipped off to a mental hospital. 

Phil walked over anyway, and got to the car.

The man stood in front of the car, as the driver reached over, opening the door opposite him. 

“Get in.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil gets into the car. (And that's basically it)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! Written completely in approximately half an hour...and then edited weeks later. 
> 
> Disclaimer:None of these characters are of my possession nor am I claiming that anything in this story is true, whatever I write here is purely of my imagination.

Phil hesitated a little, as the man looked at him impatiently. 

"Well?"

What was he supposed to do? Refuse? Walk away?

"You'll freeze to death if you stay in the rain any longer."

Frankly, there was nothing more that he wanted than to freeze to death. Or be hit by a car. Any method would do, as long as it was mostly painless and fast. 

Phil slipped into the car, his sneakers squelching one last time. The water seeped into the man's clean carpet, and Phil winced. 

"Sorry."

"If you're sorry, close the damn door." the man answered briskly, his eyes returning to the road. Luckily--or maybe unluckily-- the cars were barely moving. At this rate, it would take a long time for the road to become clear again. 

Phil sat in the seat dumbfoundedly, drawing in all of the warmth the car's heating had to offer. 

The inside of the car was similar to its outside; Cramped, but still cozy. And perfectly clean, perfectly dry. Unlike him. 

Everything about the car and its owner seemed so different from him; everything was soft and sweet, thick like honey. 

"How long?"

The car jerked forward a little, as the traffic jam began to loosen up. 

"H..how long?" Phil's voice, raspy from disuse and garbled from the cold, hung in the air uncomfortably. 

"...Since it started, I think?"

After all, it was hard to avoid the rain when you didn't even have a decent umbrella with you. 

"Since it started..." the man seemed disgruntled, muttering words under his breath. 

"You must be freezing. Want me to turn up the-"

"No, no." Phil cleared his throat a little. It had been three days. Three days since he had properly spoken to someone. The awkwardness was already embarrassing him to no end. 

"Um, thank you. For, letting me in and everything."

"My pleasure." The man smiled a little too brightly, as the light turned green. The car finally started to move at a normal pace. 

But something... _ someone _ was gone. Someone was gone, and it felt  _ empty. _

The two rode in an uncomfortable silence, as Phil silently debated with himself. 

The rain had subsided, at least to a light shower. He should probably get off now. Spare the man of the load of worries he'd inevitably force upon him. 

He knew he wasn’t thinking straight, knew he’d come to his senses sooner or later. But he also knew that this was  _ wrong _ . This man didn’t need to share the weight of Phil’s bundle of problems. 

"My name's Dan. Dan Howell."

The man cleared his throat, eyes pinned on the road. Maybe he actually felt the awkwardness too. 

"Phil." 

What a strange name. Awkward on his tongue, almost foreign. 

It was strange to hear his name again. Strange to hear his  _ voice _ again. 

He should probably say his last name as well. ...Maybe tell him straight up that he was a youtuber. Would the man…. _ Dan _ , care? Did he even recognise him in the first place?

An uncomfortable silence settled over them, as Phil attempted to clear the phlegm from his throat. 

“Lester. Phil Lester.”

Phil shivered violently, as he shrunk closer into the car's warm seat. He was probably ruining the seat, but he couldn't care any less. 

"you alright there?" The car hit a red light, and stopped.

Dan took his hands off the wheel, and looked at him worriedly. 

"Yes, Yes, I'm fine. Just-" A cough tickled his nose but he kept it down. 

"Just a headache."

This was his chance. A red light. Get back out, and never see this Dan Howell ever again. He didn't need to cause anyone even more trouble. Because that's all that he was; a burden. Nothing more.

"I'll get off now. Since, the rain's lessened considerably." He turned around and tried the handle, only to realize it had been locked. 

"Oh no. You're not leaving. Not in this condition."

This infuriated Phil, as he glared at him defiantly. 

"What's so wrong about my condition? You can't trust me to take care of myself?" 

Was it just him, or did he sound more like he was whining than being angry in the first place?

Dan snorted a little, and restarted the car,as the light turned green once more. 

"You know what? I know you. You're that YouTube guy. AmazingPhil."

Phil recoiled instantly. 

He knew. He knew, which for some reason scared Phil to no end. 

"If you're really the person whom I think you are, you won't be getting out of this car until I tell you to."

"But I'm completely fine-" Phil protested a little, as his plan fell apart in front of his very own eyes. 

"I don't believe you for a second." Dan's voice was firm, but somewhat playful too. Phil looked away, as he reddened slightly, shrinking into the seat even more and closing his eyes.

"Now. If you really think you're fine, then come home with me. If you're not running a fever, which I'm almost positively sure that you are, then I'll let you go. If not-"

The car parked smoothly, as Dan unbuckled his seatbelt.

"You're staying until you sort out whatever's wrong."

Dan opened his door, and got out of the car. 

The taller man opened the door, and held out a hand.

“Let’s get you warm, now.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who unexpectedly came on a family trip and has no access to a computer??  
> Yep. No computer for at least another day. I wrore this chapter with my phone, and I'll probably get to edit the chapter on Monday maybe?  
> As usual, the disclaimer still applies, and frankly will continue to until the end of time itself, I believe.

Dan stood awkwardly in front of the kettle, placidly watching the water boil. 

Phil Lester.

AmazingPhil. 

Dan savored the words silently. 

This was the hyperactive, funny, intelligent man he had watched through a screen for several years. 

The man who kept his nights from becoming lonely, the man who reminded him so much of Adrian, without the unhappy lapses that his younger brother had unfortunately adopted from Dan himself. 

And now, Dan had Phil Lester in his house with him. In his house. 

In his bathroom, to be exact. 

The younger man had immediately led him to the bathroom, instructing him to go take a shower. It was probably the best way to deal with these kinds of things–got him clean, got him warm. Although, sticking a guy with a fever in the shower probably wasn't that good of an idea. 

They'd manage. He'd turn the heat up high, try and prevent him from getting worse. 

But the little voice in the corner of his mind remained, asking the unspoken questions that were quite evidently demanding answers. 

What had landed Phil in the middle of the road, with nothing but the clothes on his back?

Why was he so….drained? So different from his internet persona, so tired and empty?

The shower started inside the bathroom, and Dan slowly woke from his trance. 

He could question Phil about what happened later. 

The man walked over to his bedroom, looking for whatever clean clothes he could find for the man in his shower. 

He rummaged around his drawer for a bit, and fished out a random pair of pyjama pants and shirt, his hands grazing the white fabric of his “I’m a Philion” shirt before he shoved it in the corner of the drawer. 

Phil didn’t need to see that. Not yet, at least. 

Of course, it’d have to come out soon. When else would he be able to meet the star-of-sorts that he appreciated so much, at such an intimate level?

If things went well, then...

Dan smiled a little, albeit sarcastically. After all of  _ that _ , he was still looking for love. 

He grabbed the clothes, then walked over to the bathroom once more, knocking on the door in a somewhat hesitant manner.

* * *

Phil decided, that Dan was a strange man. A polite, warm man but murky in his motivation. 

The warm water swirled around his feet before going down the drain. It was tinted in a slight,dusty grey, speckles of dust mixed in with the clean, sweet foam of whatever body wash Dan kept in his shower. It definitely smelled good--like soft, rich chocolate. 

It was nice to be standing under the warm spray of water. Helped clear up his mind a lot. Of course, the headache still did remain, but Phil had a bad feeling that the headache was more than exhaustion. Maybe he did have a fever. What if he was  _ actually _ sick? He couldn't afford to inconvenience Dan any further. 

Perhaps he really should have just gotten out of the car. 

Stupid, stupid. Why did he make stupid choices all the time? It would be hard to back out now, what with him being in the shower and everything. But it was true that he'd had little of a choice-- as soon as he had gotten out of the car, the taller man had grasped his shoulders, pushing him straight into the bathroom. But did that justify him being overly docile? 

He could’ve run. He could’ve resisted. 

Phil shook his head a little. 

Dan probably didn’t mean any harm. It wasn’t like he was trapped in a cellar with his hands chained to a post. He was probably trying to be a good citizen, cleaning Phil up and expecting Martyn to come fetch him or something. Or maybe he was a fan, happy to lend a hand. 

But that couldn’t be true, right? Phil was nowhere  _ near _ famous for anyone to recognize him off the bat. 

"Phil? You alright in there?"

Dan's voice sounded through the door, as he knocked on the door. 

Phil quickly shut the water off. 

“Yeah, why?”

"I was starting to think that you’d passed out or something. You've been in there for a while."

"Yeah well, I was just enjoying your chocolate body wash." Phil replied, as he grabbed a towel, drying himself off in quick pats. 

"Yeah, well, Tesco's decided to get me that instead of my usual one. Can I come in?"

"In a moment." He wrapped the towel around his waist, and opened the door slightly. Dan’s hand appeared, pushing the door a little bit more to step inside. 

"I didn't...well.”

Dan glimpsed Phil’s exposed chest, before quickly looking away. 

“I have some clothes with me, but I'm not sure if it'll fit?" 

Dan cleared his throat a little, and showed the stack of clothing to him. 

Phil eyed the other man carefully. Dan was obviously taller than him, by an inch or so. But it'd work. Probably. 

"..You're thinner than what I expected." Dan said, setting the clothes on the counter as Phil quickly crossed his arms over his chest. 

"Yeah, um..."

What was he supposed to say? 

Everything that he thought of sounded wrong. Just wrong,to say out loud. 

"Just...change and come outside. I'm making tea." The taller man said nervously, before exiting the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Dan turned the electric kettle on, and fished out two mugs, setting them on the counter. 

His mind was spinning at a million miles an hour, all sorts of crazy theories and emotions swirling into a wild tornado of thought. 

He looked so... _ beaten. _ His usual, spontaneous behavior that he sported on YouTube was quite literally gone, replaced by a careful, almost reluctant man. 

What had happened over the past few weeks? He had seemed fine in his last dailybooth post...

Dan shook his head, and reached for the tea. 

Was he being too much? After all, Phil was a grown man. It probably hadn’t been the best move, forcing him to get into the car when Phil obviously had no idea about who Dan was. Perhaps he was already embarrassed. Oh god. Dan wasn’t trying to come off as creepy or anything. He liked Phil. Not in a creepy way. 

All he wanted was to help him. Nothing more than that. 

The awkwardness crept up on him little by little, until he cracked.    
Maybe it’d be better to fill the void with something. Usually, he’d just turn Phil’s videos on, checking now and then to shift things to another video. 

It wasn’t that he was obsessed over Phil. Well, maybe he was. Just slightly. 

But no. It wasn’t like that. 

He just liked Phil’s personality, how he was so different from him. How he seemed to light up a room, while Dan somewhat darkened it, with his clothes and all. It was comforting to hear him talk about random things in his life, adding color to his mainly black and white life. 

He sauntered over to the telly, turning it on to the most generic channel possible-- being BBC. Quite extremely stereotypical, but he was hoping to come off as normal. He  _ was _ normal. Just...a little too obsessed with willowy boys with fringes and skinny jeans. 

Well, not just any boy like that. 

People like Phil. 

It was stupid, really. Any male celebrity in his twenties fit that description, and Dan probably sounded like a twelve year old girl for thinking of these kind of things. 

He stared at the telly, which had ambled on to a rerun of Sherlock, then returned to the kitchen. 

The water was  _ finally _ boiling. 

He heard someone shuffle into the hallway, and looked up to meet Phil, shyly inching his way into the brightly lit room. 

“Sorry, is it a bit...big?” Dan winced at the awkwardness, and directed his gaze back to the tea caddy in his hands. 

“The clothes, you know.” He clarified, desperately hoping that his voice wouldn’t crack as he dropped the tea bags into the pot.

“No, no. It’s...it’s fine.” Phil stammered out, shuffling into the kitchen. 

“You look a bit red.” Dan breathed, then turned on his heel. 

He knew Phil was running a fever. He just hoped that it wouldn’t be too bad. 

“Stay here.” He warned, before returning with a thermometer. 

“Can I-” he gestured at the thermometer, as Phil nodded. 

He walked up a little closer to the shorter man. His right hand hovered around Phil’s neck momentarily, before his fingertips found Phil’s chin, supporting him with a light touch as he took his temperature. Surprisingly, Phil didn’t recoil away or anything. Rather, he seemed to lean in slightly. 

At least, until the thermometer beeped. 

“39.2 degrees.” Dan breathed, turning the thermometer off and setting in on the table. Phil simply winced a little.

“Should we go to a hospital?” Dan wondered out loud, but Phil flinched, drawing away from him. 

“No, it’s okay, I don’t need a hospital.”

“I’m pretty sure that it’s a flu at the very least.” Dan retorted. “This isn’t about your fear of going to a hospital. It’s about getting you better.” 

There he was again, the mother goose side of Dan. He hated to nag at Phil any more. It was already probably embarrassing him enough, with the situation and everything, but he just wanted to keep Phil safe. 

He stalked back into the kitchen, pouring water into the teapot before putting that in the tray as well. He carried the tray to the lounge once more, where Phil was still standing awkwardly by the table. 

“Well?” Dan gestured towards the table. 

“Sit.” 

He put the tray down on the table. Attempting to smile awkwardly before embarking on yet another trip to the medicine cabinet. Which, by the way, was quite sparsely furnished (he had a tendency to just wait things out instead of going to a doctor) but he still did have basic medication. 

He looked around in the cabinet, before his eyes landed on a pack of sudafed in the corner. He grabbed the half-finished package, and walked back to the kitchen. 

  *      *        *



The shirt was warm. Maybe a little  _ too  _ warm against his burning skin, but Phil liked the feeling of the thin white cotton. 

It was light, soft, and reminded him of safety. Of being cared for. 

An oasis of peace in the madness that had become his life lately. 

_ You were the best friend I’ve ever had.  _

The voices nagged at him, as he blinked repeatedly. His head  _ pounded _ , and the effort of making civil conversation was a chore in itself. 

He literally wanted to curl up and die. Of course, it wasn’t an option. It hadn’t been one and it never would be one, at least for a while. Which in itself was pretty bleak. 

He reached towards the teapot and took off the lid, watching the shade of the water become more and more vibrant, rich and beautiful. 

He really did like tea. Tea was peaceful. You had to wait for the leaves to work their magic, unlike coffee, which could be stirred into submission. A test of how patient you were, from beginning to end. 

“Is sudafed okay, then?” Dan came back. Phil noted that he was holding pills. Flu pills, probably.

“If you’re not going to go to a hospital, we should at least get you some pills.”

“Yes, yeah, it’s okay.”

If it’d take away his headache, he’d probably take anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this came a bit later than usual!  
> (For my excuse, I was reading up a little on Dan/Phil history. I'm actually pretty new to the Phandom, so bear with me if I miss things)  
> Also on a side note, if you live in America, 39.2 degrees celsius is around degrees fahrenheit.  
> As always, all mistakes are mine, I don't own Dan and Phil, etc etc.  
> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> Also if you want to bully me into uploading faster, I'm  
> @lesterkisses on twitter and instagram  
> disenchantedperfume on Tumblr
> 
> Have a good day! :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As always, Dan and Phil are not mine, they probably shouldn't because I have a tendency to bully my characters a lot. Obviously I'm not making money off this either since if I did I'd be able to afford tickets to America to see them on their tour. 
> 
> ...Re-writing all of the chapters. I've decided to save this one.

The silence between them was comfortable. Still a little awkward, but steadily getting more familiar. Dan sipped at his tea silently, letting the telly fill the muted silence between them. 

They’d relocated to the living room, since Phil seemed much less stable than he had been before. Exhausted, but still on edge somehow. The older man was curled up on the sofa, fighting his drowsiness and losing. The effect of the pills was strong, and Phil was far from well-rested. 

"Go to sleep, Phil." Dan took the remote, turning down the telly to a low hum. 

Phil forced his eyes open, staring at Dan with a somewhat panicked demeanour, as if he didn’t want to sleep. 

"It's okay." He whispered, the atmosphere feeling strangely intimate. He barely knew the man-at least, not any more than what he chose to reveal on YouTube.

But it was evident that Phil was falling apart. Dan wasn’t completely sure how, but he knew the feeling; knew the hopelessness, the numbness that stripped you down to nothing but a clingy, needy mess. Not that Phil was a burden to him. No; He was far from that.

"Promise you'll still be here." The man muttered, eyes fluttering as he lost the battle against his fatigue. 

It felt weird, hearing that from the man who was practically his hero. His silly, young-at-heart hero that normally brightened up his world. The one whom Dan had relied on so long, to get him through the empty nights. Yet here he was, comforting the man who had indirectly saved him so many times. 

"I will." He whispered back, moving his beanbag closer to the sofa. His hand reached out, grabbing Phil's pale, weak hand. Phil smiled a little, his hand squeezing Dan’s before closing his eyes. The shorter man’s breathing deepened almost instantly, face losing the weariness that it had sported for so long. His barriers were finally down. Gone was the unsteady, brave face he had put up against the world. In its place, was a weary young man, finally getting to rest properly. 

He'd be there. He'd be there for as long as Phil needed him. He was so  _ different _ compared to him; Phil lit up a room when he entered it. Dan darkened it, with his black clothes and sarcastic persona. Phil was silly, delicate and artistic, with a sharp, willowy physique. Compared to him, Dan felt clumsy and awkward, with his sharp tongue and fuller body. But self-criticism aside, he was devastated to see Phil so beaten down. And whatever it was, he vowed to solve it. 

He sat quietly, squeezing Phil's hand lightly. His hand was  _ burning _ . Maybe the pills weren't exactly working? Maybe he should've gotten a washcloth with him or something. He’d learned early on from his mum that medication sometimes didn’t quite work; At times, the best medicine was a simple washcloth, damp with cold water. 

But the idea of it was too weird; somehow, it felt as if Dan was taking advantage of Phil. Maybe he’d try it later. See if the Sudafed works, then use it as a defense mechanism later on. After all, the night was still quite young; He could dish up a simple dinner, and check up on Phil later, see if he could get some soup into him. 

If, well, he could muster up the courage to let go of Phil’s hand. He had a feeling that Phil would notice if he did. 

He looked around, seeing if he could replace his hand with something temporarily. 

After all, there was soup to be warmed up, bedrooms to be cleaned out. Well, one to be exact. Nevertheless, one of them would have to sleep in the bedroom eventually--and Dan had a strong feeling that he wouldn’t be the one sleeping. 

He looked around, before plucking a Yoshi plushie from the armrest. 

Slowly, carefully he inched his hand out of Phil’s, sticking the plushie in instead. He got up, but not before grabbing a blanket bunched up in the corner. 

He covered Phil with the blanket, making sure that he was properly covered, then slowly backed away, going into his bedroom.

*       *     *

Darkness. Timeless, comfortable darkness. Peaceful sleep-- although it was halfway fabricated, thanks to the pills.

The man slept feverishly, trying to drag out the darkness for as long as possible. 

It wouldn’t last. It never did. 

Even if he collapsed in exhaustion, the darkness would lift sooner or later, into something thinner. Something sheer enough to bring back the confusion, the grief his mind was constantly lost in--only this time, he couldn’t escape. 

Flashes. Screams, and footsteps thundering as people rushed in. Screams and tear tracks that were permanently imprinted in his mind. And above all, the music. Trying to maintain a sense of normality, or just adding to the abnormality of everything. And of all, the sight of  _ him _ . The unsure, brittle wrists mottled with drops of red. 

It was so  _ vivid. _ Everything was so vague, yet too explicit. Too clear. 

He thrashed around, trying to get away from the images, held back by artificial fatigue of the pills. Dragging him back in, forcing him to relive  _ those  _ images, over and over again. 

There was a light. He could see light. Real light. 

If he thrashed around, would someone be able to rescue him? 

Wake him up, pull him out of the endless maze, the unforgiving water?

He whined a little, flailing his limbs feverishly. 

_ Please, please… _

* * *

Dan opened the fridge, seeing if there was anything that could be fixed up. He seldom cooked. It wasn’t about gender roles or whatever stupid crap people reasoned with. No, it was just plain laziness and clumsiness, uniting to provide various reasons why he shouldn’t ever approach a stove at all. 

But this was Phil. 

He felt obligated to do a little for him. At least, something more than a warm shower and a cocktail of drugs to knock him out. 

He reached in, and retrieved a tub of soup. Leftovers from his mum’s monthly visits, dropping by with an armful of groceries for tea and small talk.    
He pulled out a pot from the cupboards, and turned the stove on. He set the pot on the stove, before heading over to the sink. The tea that he’d made earlier had failed to do much, except for maybe blowing a bit more warmth into Phil. And really, that’s all it needed to do. Regardless, the mugs would have to be rinsed out soon. He didn’t like it when his mugs got stained. 

Dan did everything mechanically; there was so much, yet so little to think about. It was like exam season all over again. Only, his challenges were much more...realistic. And potentially fatal. 

He quickly scrubbed at the mugs, before setting them to dry. Something thumped, and he straightened up, peeking out of the kitchen to see if Phil was awake. 

“Phil?” He called out softly, before heading over to the lounge. 

The sight in front of him made his heart jump--in a bad way. 

The older man was thrashing about, jerking as whimpers came out of his mouth. 

A bad dream? 

He rushed over to the man’s side, gently shaking him. 

“Phil, Phil--”

“Don’t go, please!” The man yelped, still only half awake. 

“Phil, come on, wake up, it’s just a bad dream.” Dan tried to reason, shaking him a little harder.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always the usual disclaimer applies, if I owned Phil I would never let him catch a cold or be homeless and I would never let Dan live such a lonely life. Thank you to everyone that leaves kudos/bookmarks this work!  
> If you've been reading this since the first version and you've for some reason been coerced into rereading this mess then whoo! Thank you so much <3

“No, no no…” Phil’s body shook with tremors, as he fought to get himself out. It was working. It probably was. Someone was there. Someone was trying to wake him, he could  _ feel it _ , and so he lifted his heavy eyelids. 

“Phil, please, come back to me. Please.” someone whispered. 

The room was pitch black, and Phil was disoriented for a moment. Who was this person? And why was the room dark? Was he in his apartment? Had everything been a mere dream? 

“That’s it.” The man patted at Phil’s back. Phil noticed that he was being held, the other man holding him tight and refusing to let go. 

Dan. 

Right. He remembered. 

Everything came rushing back around him; the familiar weight pulling him down, taking his breath away from him. But he blinked a couple of times, letting the tears in his eyes drop into Dan’s shirt as he hugged back just as tightly. 

Bury it. Forget it all. Pretend it never happened. Make sure that the memories would never be able to touch him again. 

“I’m okay.” the words came out shakily, as if he was asking a question. 

“I’m okay.”

“Yes, you are.” Dan smiled a little, pulling back to look at Phil a little worriedly. 

“You gave me quite a scare back there.”

“Yeah...Sorry ‘bout that.” Phil rubbed his face tiredly. 

Forget it. Forget it all. Hide it away and never relive it again. 

If only it was that easy. 

“Nightmare.” He muttered, as Dan’s brow deepened.

“Nightmares?”

“It’s nothing.” The older man waved it away impatiently. Dan gave him one last stare, before standing up once again. 

“I’m fixing up dinner. Is soup okay?” 

Phil sat up on the sofa. It was all he could do, honestly. He was still quite exhausted, and probably would be for a long time, if the dreams persisted. 

“You can cook?”

“No, not really.” Dan walked over to the doorway, waving a hand by the wall to find the light switch. 

“Turning the lights on,” he warned, and Phil immediately closed his eyes as the other man flicked the switch. 

“My mum’s.” The taller man added sheepishly, as Phil cautiously opened his eyes. 

“D’you think...Will you be okay?” he blurted out, as Phil looked up at him abruptly. 

“Will I be okay?” he wondered out loud. Was Dan going to leave him or something? Of course he’d be fine. He’d been managing  _ just fine _ on his own. It was fine. It was okay. 

Dan looked at him with a nervous glance, before reaching over and handing Phil the TV remote. 

“Just...I dunno. Watch a little telly. Rest a little more. I’ll be back with the soup.”

At that, Phil scrambled to sit up. No. He couldn’t be indebted to Dan to this extent. Not this much. He could take care of himself, he wasn’t a child, he  _ didn’t need to be protected.  _

“No, I couldn’t just make you do that.” He managed, before stumbling a little. The world felt as if it was spinning underneath him. Maybe it was the anemia. Or maybe...when was the last time that he’d had a meal?

“No. Stay right here, you’ll be helping me more if you do.” Dan stated firmly, pushing him down into the sofa. Phil sat back down, his legs easily giving up. 

“Stay  _ put. _ ” the other man emphasized again, a warm, strange look on his eyes. 

Phil simply drew the blanket over his legs, covering his feet thoroughly,  sleepily reclining onto the sofa again as Dan went back into the kitchen, but not before giving him a warm-ish smile. A nice smile. Phil liked smiles...

  *               *            *



Dan heard the telly start up again, the sounds of some obscure cooking program drifting in through the door. Probably the Great British Bake-Off. 

He sighed a little, and leaned against the fridge. 

It was lucky that Phil wasn’t feeling quite well. Dan wasn’t a bossy person; He rarely initiated things, much less lead them. But seeing Phil sparked some sort of protectiveness hidden deep inside of him. And with that, came the urge to swaddle him up in a duvet and cuddle…

Wait. What?

Dan shook his head a little, smiling rather sarcastically. Typical Dan, having a fanboy moment as always…

But this wasn’t about being a fan. This wasn’t about spending days trying to convince himself that it was worth breathing, it was worth facing yet another day. This was about taking care of somebody...Someone that he truly cared for. Someone that truly needed his help, not some stupid chap who was willing to do  _ anything _ to shorten his time in prison. 

No. It wasn’t anything like that. This… This was affection. Dan winced internally, at the word. Affection. Such a vague, yet explicit word. 

Attraction. Yes. Maybe that was better. Or maybe not, since he probably came off as a complete weirdo if he phrased it that way. 

He wasn’t trying to take advantage of Phil or anything. No. He was just genuinely worried about him, and willing to help him out. That’s it. That’s how he would come off as to Phil. Worried, a bit bossy, but still...affectionate. 

He detached himself from the fridge, and turned the stove on, the smile still lingering on his lips. 

He could worry about his feelings later; when Phil wasn’t about as hot as a furnace in mid-November. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's decided to just revise the first five chapters and tweak the story to start it over again?   
> (Additionally guess who's decided to exploit her trip to the hospital one month ago to write this half-chapter)  
> So yep, officially starting over, thank you for everyone who's read this fic and all the people that have commented! I can't believe that my first fic had such a good response! I'm a shit writer so I never saw this coming, thank you so much ;-;  
> So, rule changes:
> 
> -I'm going to edit the tags right after I post this to make the story more clear.   
> -I'm NOT going to be making an alternate vertsion on tumblr.   
> -No update days. My schedule does not support these. 
> 
> Also a huge thank you to Seoul's weather which has decided to grace us with warm spring weather and raining which made me think of this fic again! As always, same disclaimer. I shouldn't be in charge of humans in general in terms of the stuff I write. I'm going to write a second part to this chapter sometime, so do keep your eyes open for that if you like Deluge! 1 kudos=1 virtual cookie <3
> 
> ((Colors will be edited ASAP sorry for not editing that one It's quite shit so I'm scared to approach it))

Phil came to to a muted, grey ceiling.   
Where was he?  
Who was he?  
The man furrowed his brow once, letting out a small whimper.   
Lester. Phil Lester.   
Well, that was a start.   
He was 22 years old. He lived in York. He liked Muse.   
The man counted down the basics, before trying to remember what he was doing at the moment.   
The man shivered violently. Did someone leave the doors open? It was cold. Really cold, and he didn’t like it one bit at all.   
“Oh, Phil–”  
A nurse’s face hovered over him, as Phil shivered once again.  
“Where am I?”  
The nurse was gone again, as Phil craned his neck to try and get his attention again.   
“I’m cold…” He complained, and someone put a blanket over him.   
Wait.   
Was he at a hospital?   
Feeling confused, the man craned his neck, trying to figure out where he was.   
What was he doing here?   
One moment he was in Dan’s bed, the next….  
* * *  
Phil woke up several hours later, when the sun was just beginning to rise.   
The first thing he saw, was that a water gun had been taped to his arm, making is really uncomfortable to move it.   
The second, was the sight of Dan, slumped over on a chair with his head resting just by his waist.   
“Dan?”  
A nurse poked her head into the room, as Phil stared up at her blankly.   
“Oh, Phil, you’re awake!” She smiled, stepping inside.   
“I’m just here to check your vitals.” She supplied helpfully, as she fished out a blood pressure cuff from...somewhere.   
“...Phil?” Dan groaned slightly, as Phil felt a rush of sympathy for the younger. Based on just his looks it was quite obvious that he had had little sleep.   
“Sshh. I’m awake now.” Phil found himself saying, lifting his un-cuffed hand to rest on Dan’s head.   
The nurse finished checking his vitals, and Phil found himself falling asleep once more.   
* * *  
“What happened to him?”  
“Well, Dan just said that he found him in the middle of a street.”  
“That’s mental. Phil wouldn’t do that.”  
Phil’s eyes fluttered open, as he saw the face of Martyn hovering over him.   
“Hey, little brother.” Martyn smiled, running a hand over Phil’s face.   
“Hello Martyn.” Phil replied, blinking to wake himself up.   
“Where’s Dan?”   
“Off to his classes.” Martyn replied. “He’s still a student, Phil. Bit too young for you, don’t you think?”  
“He’s not…” Phil fumbled, as Martyn took the bed’s remote and raised it to help Phil sit properly.   
“He’s not interested in me.” Phil continued, as his brother turned away to fetch something. “I mean, I don’t think so?”   
His voice broke around “think,” as Martyn offered a bottle of Ribena to him.   
“Really? Wonder why he’d stick with you for the whole night and leave you with all of these, then?” He replied, sidestepping to reveal a table occupied with various snacks, toiletries and his phone.  
“He was around until the minute he had to leave.” his brother added, bringing over a chair and sitting in it.   
“Do mum and dad know?” Phil asked slowly, already feeling guilty.   
“Of course. But they can’t come right now, as they’re visiting grandad’s.”  
Phil cringed. It’d be best for him to get released as soon as possible. It was already a little daunting to think of what his parents would say for him getting into this mess.   
“Don’t worry. They understand. If anything, they seem to like Dan anyway. Shouldn’t be a problem.”   
“When’s he coming back?”  
“Right now.” A familiar voice said, as Dan walked into the room.   
“Glad you’re awake, lion.” He said, and was rewarded with a shy smile from Phil.


	8. Chapter 8

Dan’s footsteps were brisk, as he wove through the mess of people on the first floor of the hospital. Was Phil awake? Hopefully he was. Even an exhausted person had to wake up at some point, right?

Or on the other hand, maybe it was better if Phil was still asleep. So the first person he’d see would be Dan, not some strange nurse checking in on him. Of course, he was overreacting–Martyn had promised to stay until Phil woke up.

But… Phil wasn’t a random friend who’d unexpectedly gotten sick. Phil was….Phil. It’s not any day that you meet your idol and admittedly crush before you bring them to A&E approximately seven hours later.

Dan shook his head as he squeezed into an elevator.

Phil Lester was a strange, strange man.

Infinitely attractive, infinitely complex … And infinitely incapable of taking care of himself.

Right before he got into the room, Dan stood a step away from the room, surveying the situation.

The two brothers were comfortably situated in the room. Phil was evidently awake, sitting up and gripping the ribena he’d left on the table. Martyn was sitting, texting quietly.

It was so peaceful. It looked right. Felt right. What right did Dan have, to burst into the scene? But if he left now, would he ever be able to forgive himself?

“When’s he coming back?”

Dan’s heart jumped a little. Was Phil...by any way.. talking about him?

About Dan?

Well, only one way to find out, right?

He took a breath, and plastered a warm smile on his face.

“Right now.” he replied, walking into the room.

“Glad you’re awake, lion.” He added unsteadily. His voice wavered on _lion_ , and he really, really hoped that Phil hadn’t noticed.

Martyn finished sending a text and immediately looked up, looking at him with a split-second look of something Dan just couldn’t define. Then his face stretched into a smile.

Huh. Talk about the Lester boys being so secretive.

“Well, I’ll just be going then.” the oldest man said out loud, as he ruffled Phil’s fringe. Walking past, he stopped to smile at Dan, as Dan’s phone buzzed.

“Might wanna check that.” Martyn winked. “Bye, boys.”

“Bye.” Dan replied. The door closed, and Dan stood awkwardly, trying to gauge Phil’s status.   
Would he be mad, that his family was now involved?

Would he be relieved?

After all, it’s hard to not freak the fuck out when someone’s having a seizure on the floor...

“Good afternoon.” Phil said, voice still hoarse from being sick. “Where did you go off to?”

“Had to go to class.” Dan replied, an easy smile creeping up as he saw the shorter man half awake and still slightly ruffled. “I’m still in Uni.”

“I’ve been informed.” Phil replied, the edges of a smile showing as he looked up at Dan. Dan held Phil’s gaze, before walking over and sitting down in the chair Martyn had deserted. The seat was warm, Dan observed. Perhaps Martyn had actually been around for some time.

“Major?”

“Law.”

“Law!” Phil laughed, squirming in the bed. Dan took the remote to raise the upper half of the bed and rearranged his pillows.

“You don’t _seem_ like the control freaks I met in uni.”

“Well,  least it leads straight to a job,” Dan replied.

“Well definitely, but still,” Phil whined.

 

* * *

The night air is cool against Dan’s sweater as he carefully pushes the wheelchair, carefully to skirt around bumps and ridges.

“Are you okay? Is it too cold?”

“No, it’s fine.” Phil answers and Dan reaches down to tuck the blanket on Phil’s lap tighter.

They’ve bribed the nurses to let Phil come outside for a little while, just so Phil can catch the fresh air before he’s returned to the cramped, dark hospital room. The nurses agreed, but not before they proffered a wheelchair for Phil along with a fluffy blanket.

The air is crisp, the ground slightly wet from the light shower that they watched over dinner. The nurses said it wouldn’t rain again, but Phil grips a plum-colored umbrella in his hands, just in case.

Dan wheels him over to the balcony, just where they can see the city lights, twinkling under their feet. There’s a lot of benches, and Dan opts to park Phil right by the end of one and sit down, mindful of the damp areas.

They enjoy the silence for a bit. Watch the cars whizz by, and the other patients, some alone, some with a gaggle of family members. A little girl runs past them with a cupful of cotton candy in hand, and Phil watches her for a long time, watching her giggle, trip, but keep on running, knees never grazing the ground.

“So, how’d you find me?” He asks unexpectedly.

“How’d I find out? I checked back on you at 2am, you had a fever of 49.6 degrees and you had no idea of who I was.”

“So you panicked.”

“You would.” Dan retorted, feeling a bit zesty. It wasn’t him being an obsessive fan. It was genuine worry. It really was.

“Yes, I would.” Phil replied, his gaze softening. Dan could see his eyes twinkle in the night, watch as the longest tip of his fringe fell to cover his left eye. Dan impulsively reached up, and pushed it away.

“I look terrible, don’t I?”

“You look fine,” Dan replied. “I’ll brush down your hair later and you should be fine.”

“...Thank you.”

“No problem.” Dan breathed out, choosing to return his gaze to the streetlamps below. His cheeks were burning, and he hoped that it wouldn’t show. But he blushes easily. Too easily.

“No. Really. Thank you. For...everything.” Phil sighed. “Why, though? I mean. I know you’re...a fan and everything. But Dan, I’m still a stranger. You had no moral obligation to do any of this, all of this. And I’m not ungrateful for it, but it’s just–”

Phil stopped as a warm, much bigger hand enveloped his ice-cold one. Holding it close, keeping it away from his destructive self...but protecting it. Warming it up, making him feel the safest that he’d felt since the first time he ventured out of his flat.  

“I wanted to, okay? I was worried.” _I didn’t want to lose you._

“You’re not a burden, Phil. You never were. And you never will be. At least for me.” Dan said, feeling soppier by the second. When would Phil notice? Was this even a good time for saying anything like this? Phil was _sick_. Dan shouldn’t be forcing this on him in this state, or at all to be honest.

But...but, it didn’t hurt to try, right?

“I really like you, Phil. And I don’t want to see you go.” Dan said, looking down at his lap and toying with Phil’s hand.

What would happen now? Would Phil be disgusted? Would he want Dan to leave? Who would take care of Phil then? Martyn was probably still at the hotel, he could come care for Phil. And as for Phil’s clothes back in his flat–well, surely he wouldn’t want that back, after all this–

“Dan!” Phil yelled, and he looked back to face his flustered, exasperated face.

“I want you to come here and kiss me, right this second.” He instructs and Dan obliges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay chapter 8! You have no idea how many scraps I wrote and rewrote for this one. The second part was actually written quite impulsively which is why it's got the crappiest ascending romance ever. As always all kudos/comments/bookmarks/subscriptions warm my cold dead heart just a little more! Thank you for sticking with this patchwork quilt. :D 
> 
> (PS I KNOW I KNOW IT NEEDS EDITS I'M JUST I'LL FIX IT LATER OKAY)


	9. Chapter 9

“Morning.”

Dan jumped a little at Phil’s voice, almost losing his footing on the damp bathroom tiles. Phil looked up at him, barely awake as he nursed the site of his water gun a bit resentfully. 

“Morning. How are you?” Dan ran a hand over his hair and closed the bathroom door behind him. He had seized the chance to take a quick shower when Phil had dozed off early, and his hair was curlier than ever, sticking up everywhere after an admittedly short amount of sleep. 

“I’m better. A lot better, actually.”

Phil smiled, a strange look dancing across his eyes. Their eyes met and stayed. Not very loud, but not quite awkward either. Just calm, and nice. Just like how Dan wanted things to go. He waved Dan over, patting the space beside him on the bed. After a split second’s hesitation, Dan sat down.

Did Phil remember? Of course he did, even a fever probably couldn’t erase a memory like that. A part of Dan  _ wanted _ Phil to never remember, and spare him of the inevitable embarrassment later. A part of Dan hoped that he’d never forget. 

“I'm sorry about yesterday night." Phil breathed out. "I wasn’t thinking straight, and I didn't even ask! I know...you might've been pressured into it. And if you were, I'm really sorry." He massaged the site of the IV drip a little harder, grip undoubtedly bruising against the sensitive skin. 

“What? No,  _ no _ , Phil, why would I regret it?” If anything, Dan wondered if  _ Phil _ regretted it.

"you don’t even know me, Dan.” Phil looked down at his lap nervously. “I'm just...me, and you've all this way to help."

"You've saved me for the last year and a half, Phil. This is the least I can do." Well, here went nothing. The noise in his ears was deafening, and his hands were growing unusually clammy. The events of the night before came rushing back to his mind. Only this time, the air wasn’t very cool anymore. Dan leaned back in, held Phil’s hand in his to draw it away from the IV.  "I love the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. I love the way you're always cheery in your videos. I love your obsession for shiny green envelopes." He laughs a little, feeling his face redden. "I sent you one, too. Combed all over my hometown to get one."

The silence was deafening, but Dan felt Phil’s hand grip his back. A second later, he felt a strong squeeze. 

“Two days, and you’re already beating me at the compliments game.” Phil reached over with a hand, and Dan gave him his other hand before Phil’s IV-hand could strain itself any further. 

Dan clears his throat, tries to forget the embarrassment curling in his heart. “Ready to face the day? Or should I let you sleep a little more?” 

“Only if you’re with me.” Phil replied, patting the space beside him on the bed a little too suggestively. A little too seductively, for a guy attached to an IV drip.

Maybe, it might’ve been better for both of them if Phil remained as an erotic fantasy for Dan. But life didn’t run that way. And Dan was perfectly happy with a tousled, exhausted but breathing presence of Phil that Dan _felt_ , sitting just two feet away.

Shaking his head a little, Dan pulled the covers, submerging Phil in the mess of pillows. 

“I’d never leave.” He whispers, before squirming into the bed beside him. The lilo they’d given him was way too low, not so that he’d get trampled on by a half-blind nurse on the graveyard shift but still too much that he hasn’t gotten any contact from Phil, other than the occasional brush of fingertips if Dan strained a bit lying down. It was probably better that way, being the first day and all. If, well, if this had advanced to something, anything. 

“You sure shouldn’t, he’ll be discharged in a few hours and the lord knows he’s not signing all those forms himself.” A nurse edged her way into the room, pushing the door open with her shoulder with Phil’s breakfast in her hands. 

“Be a dear and set up the table, please. Was Karen here to take his blood pressure?”

“...Someone was here earlier for my temperature, but I don’t remember blood pressure.”

Dan set up the table fairly easily, having fiddled with it for fifteen minutes straight after he’d stumbled in, deathly scared for Phil’s condition but also burdened by the bags of food and drinks Phil liked. It was predictably easy for Dan to remember all the things Phil had either said he liked, or actually ate during one of his videos. And Dan wasn’t sure if it was okay to subconsciously pick out everything Phil might’ve wanted. 

“Well, I’ll check in with her just in case. Be back in a half hour for the tray, yeah?”

“Will do.” Phil smiled up at the woman, and Dan could nearly feel his heart flicker in slight jealousy. 

He was falling, tumbling down with no way out. To be real, he already had. But with a single smile, Phil took away the ladder Dan might’ve crawled up to return to his parents’ carefully arranged penthouse of future goals. 

“What is it, then?” Phil replied, suddenly looking a lot more cheery than before. Dan opened the lid for him, revealing toast, jam, and butter. A juice box was slotted in the corner, too.

“I’m more of a cereal fan personally.” Phil supplies.

“Name a time and date, and I’ll get you more than just cereal. This city’s a pretty nice. Places to see. Food to try out.” Okay. That sounded wrong. Or suggestive. Either way, not something to say in front of a sick person. “When you recover, of course.”

Phil reached over, and handed him a piece of toast with jam. 

“I’d be honored.” The words rang in Dan’s head, as Phil laughed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. I went into the statistics page of my account a week ago, and saw that this work has 39 subs. Thirty fucking nine, guys. I can't believe that, seriously. As a girl who never had more than three friends at a time until her 7th school, this is so amazing to know. So. I wrote you this chapter so that I could properly thank all of you guys for reading. (Half of the dialogue was written on that day...but I needed to get APUSH done and over before I could edit it into the chapter.)  
> Over the past few months, my self esteem suffered so much. But...seeing that so many of you care so much for Deluge is amazing. Thank you so much. Your devotion gives me hope that my situation right now is only a hardship, not a constant. It gives me hope that I'm capable of writing, that I have a purpose, a skill. Your reads mean so much to me. Thank you for the subs, thank you for the bookmarks. Thank you for the kudos, the comments. (Especially the comments! shoutout to the reader who commented on EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER! you're the best!) But most of all, thank you, for giving me a chance.
> 
> Edit: Hey. I have a Hunger Games AU Phanfic I've been working on for a very long time. They're all fragmented drafts–but they add up to just a little less than 10K. Avox!Phil and Victor!Dan. Opinions?


	10. Chapter 10

“You know, I’m glad that you started YouTube.”  
“Are you?” Phil hummed, taking a moment to turn down the stove. Dan would be back from his classes any moment, and Phil was making (or rather, attempting to make) some stir fry for dinner.  
“Yeah.” His mum smiled from the screen, the connection oddly crystal clear thanks to Martyn’s wifi.  
“I always knew it was something more than that acting ploy.”  
“It wasn’t a ploy,” Phil replied, trying to ignore the pang in his heart.  
“Exactly. More of a distraction after...all that, yes?”  
“If you’d phrase it like that.”  
“Point is, I’m glad that you’re moving on, Phil.”  
“Me too.”  
Truth be told, Phil wasn’t sure if he was. He wasn’t sure if his last “episode” was over, if he was coming back down to Earth once more.  
Of course, he wanted to. No more disorienting, all-consuming panic attacks that drove him out of town. No more numbness that drove him away from his work, and distracted him from the once-impeccable sights he had set on his life.  
Phil wanted to be carefree, to be infallibly assured that there was a future for him somewhere. He wanted to be able to dream, to achieve. To be free again. He hid his face from the camera, pretending to reach for some soy sauce.  
She didn't need to see him tear up. Stupid mums–they always knew when you were sad. But they also _didn’t_ , and it just made things worse.  
“How’s Dan?”  
“He’s good. Gets a little fussy when he has to write papers or summat, but he’s a real thinker.”  
That was the thing about Dan. He always had things together, even when he didn’t. Dan always had a plan B, and even a plan C occasionally. Dan took things in his stride. Maybe he didn’t worry about the neon lights as much as Phil did.  
Yes. Maybe worry was the thing that set them apart.  
_Was everything too fast? Did Dan really know what he was getting into?_ Phil asked himself these questions every day. He was always like that, though. Real-life Phil was an anxiety-ridden mess, which really only came off as hyperactive and intellectual onscreen. As glitzy as the lights were, they never really managed to portray somebody at face value. They only ever managed to blow one’s misgivings out of proportion.  
Maybe that was why Phil did it. So that he had something to rely on. So that, as blind as it was, somebody liked him, not out of obligation or pity. They liked him, regardless of accurate AmazingPhil was. It was easy to play into a lie if concern was all you needed to live off of.  
Phil’s phone buzzed with a message.  
| I’m almost home. Should I pick up anything? | –Dan  
He smiled down at the screen, using the spur of the moment to look up.  
“Dan’s almost home, mum. Can I call you back later?”  
“Sure! Martyn’s about to take us out for sushi anyhow.”  
“Alright. Have fun.”  
Phil didn’t look at the screen, leaving his mum to end the call. Then, he texted Dan back.  
| Nope. Hurry. I miss you.|

 

* * *

 

“So, what’d you do today?”  
Dan starts the conversation tonight. They have an arrangement. Each day, they review the things they’ve done as a last-ditch effort to stay productive.  
“I wrote some storylines for the interactive thing I’m doing. And then I had a nap.”  
It’s not the most productive that he’s been–Phil’s been putting off a Waitrose trip, and he really should’ve finished and filmed said segments for his videos–but it’s still something, he figures.  
“Do you have time tomorrow after school?”  
Dan’s eyes twinkled for the first time that night. “Planning something, Phil Lester?”  
In response, Phil reached over to poke Dan’s dimple.  
“I didn’t know you found a trip down to the shops romantic, Daniel.”  
“Oh, sod off.” He was still smiling, much to Phil’s relief. “Reckon I could pick you up after class tomorrow?”  
“Or we can go straight from school. I’ll stay in a café or something.”  
“That could work.”  
They’ve found a system that works for both of them. After dinner, they clear off the table and do the dishes together before settling back into the issues at hand.  
With school creeping up to finals week for Dan, the younger prefers to dive headfirst into academics. Planning is integral to him: if Dan has a firm idea of what needs to get done, he completes it with remarkable finesse. It’s the problem of staying on task that complicates Dan’s day-to-day schedules.  
Phil, on the other hand, draws a random to-do list before completing them one-by-one. Schedules never really work–since he can never approximate how much time an activity would take, it only stresses him out.  
They sit on opposite sides of the table, working until some ungodly hour when Phil announces an impromptu night snack or Dan burns himself out on his latest hassle. Phil figures that if Dan hadn’t gone into law, he would’ve become an infamous copy editor, complete with sarcastic comments and strict adherence to style guides.  
But at the same time, maybe not. Dan is as exceedingly shy as Phil at times, even though he prefers to keep a bolder front. All in the occupation, he figures; after all, Phil has a creeping suspicion that Dan would perform adequately no matter what situation he’d face. And Phil frankly wishes that he could, too.  
"Hey, Phil." Phil blinks, as Dan's hand inches between their laptops to hold his.  
"What're you thinking about?"  
"You." He replies unabashed.  
There's something warm in Dan's eyes tonight. He's always nothing but inviting–but Phil claims with all his heart that there's something there when Phil squeezes Dan's hand once and feels him squeeze right back. It passes on right into Phil's heart–that relieved surge of reassurance, crackling at the edges with affection Phil hasn't experienced in years.  
"You know how I told you I'd take you out one day?"  
Phil breathes slowly, letting the emotions wash over him.  
"Yeah?"  
"Can that be tomorrow?"  
It's like the world finally slows down, matching his speed. As if he's been lifted clean out of the narrative, protected in a bubble with Dan by his side. Everything feels _right_. It feels good. He's ready for anything that comes next, and it fills him with a blind, but all-seeing kind of happiness.  
"Yes." 

* * *

 

He doesn't sleep.  
He draws the covers a little closer, a little tighter around Dan. He breathes in, breathes out. Puts one icy-cold hand on the younger's cheek.  
He's giddy. He's so ready for tomorrow, the most that he's been in ages. The world's become a little sharper, a little more alive. Even at night, when he's gingerly enveloping Dan, there's a special kind of clarity that makes him feel ethereal and constant. Almost invincible.  
Dan, still half asleep, takes his hand and buries it, lying it right above his heart.  
Dan's steady heartbeat finally lulls him off to sleep, custard-like and dreamless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, chapter 10! I'm just...gonna avoid looking at the last time I uploaded. I'm sorry hahahahahaha :')  
> So. I actually stopped paying attention to DnP for a while because of my newfound obsession with Lin-Manuel Miranda, but gamingmas kinda brought it back! Yayyyyyy!  
> (+ a BIG thank you to users do_name_even_matter and pastelrebel for your kind comments!!!)
> 
> *Side note, you'll notice that the tags have changed a little. Or you will, as soon as I change them. Maybe you'll beat me to it if you're one of the (gasp) 40 subscribers to Deluge! (Thank you so much, you mean everything to me, you're the reason why I haven't given up creative writing in a fit of rage)  
> This is because I'm changing the flow of the story slightly! I'm going to be incorporating elements of Dan and Phil's history, but I'll also be self-projecting in some element, mostly through Phil. Chapter 10 is entirely in Phil's POV, but we'll definitely see more bits of Dan. After all–you need a matched pair. 
> 
> As always, thank you for your kind support! Kudos, bookmarks, subs, comments–all appreciated. Thank you for putting up with Deluge despite my absurdly long gaps ;-;


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